


Definitely Still a Wrong Side

by Meggory



Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Fenris Rangers, Gen, Post Mars Attack, Pre-Series (Picard), no beta we post like desperate men, side appearance Naomi Wildman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/pseuds/Meggory
Summary: Harry Kim, finally the captain of his own ship with his own ready room where he squirrelled away extra replicator rations and clarinet reeds in his desk drawers—just in case—had levelled a blanket invitation to all his former crewmates: quarters and rations and a bottle of bourbon, to be shared or not as the case may be, with only perhaps a few questions asked.The last person Harry Kim had expected on the transporter pad was Seven of Nine.
Relationships: Harry Kim & Seven of Nine
Comments: 29
Kudos: 80





	Definitely Still a Wrong Side

**Author's Note:**

> So this story happened, and yep, I realized all the canon timings didn't quite work out half way through writing it, but I went through with it anyway. Don't @ me, just enjoy. This is unbeta'd, because that's the way I'm rolling on this.  
> Fun fact: Voyager was the very first fandom I ever wrote fic for. This is much better than that fic (I was twelve).

Harry Kim, finally the captain of his own ship with his own ready room where he squirrelled away extra replicator rations and clarinet reeds in his desk drawers— _just in case_ —had levelled a blanket invitation to all his former crewmates: quarters and rations and a bottle of bourbon, to be shared or not as the case may be, with only perhaps a few questions asked. With four pips, he'd earned the right to pry. A few of the Voyager family had taken him up on his offer over the three years he'd been in command of the _USS Taqulittuq_. Freddy Bristow had hitched a ride from Starbase 111 out to his teaching post at the Academy annex on Beta Aquiline II, looking fat and happy and bitching about his knees being too old for Parreses' Squares. Celes Tal—she'd gone back to the traditional Bajoran naming custom—had been quiet as they shared a cup of tea, and she'd hugged him goodnight; she'd disembarked on Deep Space 9 without another word. Susan Nicoletti had surprised him on Deep Space 3, running the length of a crowded shopping promenade to throw her arms around him and squeeze the air out of his lungs—she'd needed a lift to get to her wedding, of all things, and Captain Kim had joked that Lt. India Shigihara, retired, had already survived the Delta Quadrant and waited another twenty years, what was the big hurry?

He'd earned that elbow to his ribs, fair and square; Admiral Janeway had scoffed over subspace and told him that's why he hadn't merited an invitation.

The Wildman family had been aboard twice. Samantha and Greskrendtregk, now xenobiologists for the Federation and considering retirement on a daily basis, had been part of a scientific team headed for Cygnia Minor. They'd stayed up the entire night, drinking Ktarian blue wine and catching up on the gossip about all the Voyager family without ever mentioning the Delta Quadrant. A few months later, Naomi Wildman, unbelievably tall and _adult_ and sporting the shiniest new lieutenant junior grade pip on her collar, had beamed aboard with all her kit on her way to the _USS Goddard._ It had been a surreal experience to watch the redhead knock back a finger of bourbon, grin at the stars through the window of his quarters, put her head on his shoulder and say, "Isn't it weird that we're actually duplicates from a microuniverse that no longer exists because both of us died in _this_ universe? I considered writing about it for my thesis, but Mom refused to discuss it."

Harry had put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Naomi, my dear, I don't want to talk about it, either. That was a rough day."

"That's fucking saying something."

"Language."

"Oh, fuck off," she laughed. Harry had raised his eyebrow at her. "Oh, sorry, fuck off, _sir_."

"That's better."

He'd given her rib-cracking hug in the privacy of his ready room and sent her off with an appropriate handshake in the transporter room, wondering how long it would take to find the off-brand Flotter he'd hidden in one of her barrack boxes.

There were a few he knew he would never hear from—some Maquis and more Starfleet than he'd expected had quietly spread across the galaxy, finding the stability and peace the Delta Quadrant had never offered. Others sent letters, usually generally addressed to the _Voyager_ message board accessible on the Federation communications net. A few called on a regular basis. Tom and B'Elanna always managed to bicker their way through a transmission. Tuvok and Harry had a standing appointment on Thursdays for long-distance _kal-toh_. Admiral Janeway— _Kathryn_ , he had to form it deliberately on his tongue even after two fucking decades—called him what had seemed haphazardly at first, until he'd figured out she was following a ridiculous algorithm to make it seem like she was calling him haphazardly instead of being a damned mother hen.

"But I am a damned mother hen, Harry," she'd replied, deadpan, "and you're one of my wayward chicks, no matter how many people call you Captain Kim."

The last person Harry Kim had expected on the transporter pad was Seven of Nine.

She wore her hair down.

It was an odd detail to fixate on. To any of the crew of the _Taqulittuq_ , Captain Kim had welcomed aboard a middle-aged human woman wearing the kind of rough-wearing pants and long jacket civilian field scientists sported planetside. Tall, blonde, and earning the kind of smile he reserved for his former crewmates of _Voyager_.

Her hair had some curl, just enough to be a little unruly at the ends.

It hid the cybernetic implants on her face.

That was new.

Harry refused to frown at that, or the beep from the computer. He stepped around the transporter console. Seven was shorter than he remembered. She wore flat boots. He extended his hand, remembering how little she'd liked physical contact back in the day. "Hi, Seven."

Seven stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before she sighed and wrapped her arms around him. "Hi, Harry," she mumbled against the side of his head. Just as quickly as she'd moved in, she peeled away; Harry tamped down his flabbergasted surprise over Seven of Nine _hugging_ him and peered past her curtain of golden hair. A deep furrow had developed on her forehead, as if she spent too much time frowning in thought, and she was paler than he remembered.

"You look tired."

Seven shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah."

"Hungry?"

"Yeah."

Harry held out his arm, and to his surprise, she actually slipped her hand around his elbow and let him lead the way out of the transporter room.

She picked at her salad. Harry sipped his water and asked, "Did you want something else?"

Seven put down her fork and offered him a wistful smile. "You know what's strange? Every once in a while, I think fondly of leola root."

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, then sighed. "You know what's really strange? Sometimes, so do I." He poked at the replicated chicken on his plate. "Although I wonder if it's just nostalgia for real food instead of replicated."

"You can taste it too?" An interested gleam appeared in Seven's eyes.

"What, the difference? No. It's notably rare for humans to be able to tell." Harry tapped his lip thoughtfully. "Maybe I just miss the social aspect. We never ate real food outside the mess hall. Neelix could serve the most godawful meal, but at least we were all suffering together, you know?"

Seven's murmur was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. "Not all of us suffer together."

"Seven," he said gently, "I haven't seen you in ten years, and all of a sudden I get a distress call from just on the wrong side of the Romulan neutral zone."

"The neutral zone doesn't exist anymore," she retorted. "There is no wrong side."

Harry scoffed. "No, there is definitely still a wrong side, and from what I've heard, your fingerprints are all over it. The Fenris Rangers? Really?"

That one-sided shrug appeared again. "Really."

Silence stretched between them, taut, before Harry hummed. "You know, I never expected you to stay with Starfleet."

An undignified snort escaped Seven's nose. "You'd be the only one."

"The choice was too obvious," Harry said quietly. "Your knowledge was there, the expectation was there, given your history, but there was something missing."

Seven's blue eyes bored into him. "What?"

Harry smiled lopsidedly. "The curious necessity of being batshit crazy."

The woman across from him stilled completely, then brought her hand up to her mouth to hide her single bark of laughter. "I'm glad you've become so self-aware, Harry."

"It's a secret they tell you when they give you a ship," he confided. "We're all certifiable, wanting to travel faster than light in metal containers in conditions that range from instantly deadly vacuum to instantly deadly vacuum filled with Romulans. But I have to admit, becoming a vigilante was not where I expected you to end up."

"Vigilante is not the term I would use," scoffed Seven.

"You have a more efficient word for taking the law into your own hands?"

"We're providing stability. Security. Keeping people safe." Seven's expression darkened. "We're cleaning up the mess the Federation left behind when it abandoned the sectors along the Neutral Zone. The Federation dumped the Romulans onto planets they didn't want to be on with no resources, no ships, no goddamned _pride_ , patted themselves on the back for having the moral high ground and fucked off because one of their precious planets was attacked. They saw their way out of actually helping those refugees. They took it and never looked back."

Harry sighed. "Seven—"

"And don't give me some Starfleet propaganda about synthetic life."

Furrowing his brow, Harry folded the napkin in his lap and set it on the table to give him some time to think. "The synth ban was wrong," he murmured. When he glanced up from the table, Seven was staring at him in disbelief. "What?"

She pushed away from the table and wandered over to the viewports. With her back to him, she watched the stars trail past. "Very few people have expressed that publicly."

Her voice was complicated. Fresh from the Collective, she'd always spoken with an even cadence that never truly hid her curiosity, confusion, or confidence. Now, it wavered. Harry slowly made his way next to her, parsing out the deep hurt in her words.

For a long moment, they stood and watched the stars.

"We've known each other for a long time, Seven. Did you truly believe I thought so little of you?" Harry brushed his fingers against the back of her hand; the metal implants were as warm as her skin.

Her lips quirked up ruefully. "Honestly, I was too busy worrying about every eye looking a little too long at my ocular implant to think about you. Get some perspective, Harry."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"You were running around on the _Ceres_ , keeping an eye on the Cardassians. Between Hugh and Picard and me, we managed to make the case that the xBs don't violate the synth ban because at least we have"—her mouth twisted in disgust—" _organic components_. I have synthetic and cybernetic body parts. I have extraordinary abilities, and I have used them so many times to save my ship, my crewmates, my family. Without the AI in nanoprobes, how many of the _Voyager_ family would be dead?"

"I would," Harry replied quietly.

Seven nodded. "But I'm supposed to want to take it out. I'm supposed to be human, and only human, because the parts of me that are synthetic make me dangerous. Morally dubious. Less of a person, yet a threat to the entire fucking Federation."

Harry Kim was a captain of a starship now, and he did not shuffle his weight from one foot to the other before he glanced at her sideways and asked, "So was it you who decided to join the Fenris Rangers or the Doctor?"

Seven had never been great at hiding her surprise—or perhaps Harry had just been good at noticing her tells after all that delusional time spent thinking he was in love with her. The way she went completely still was as good as an answer, so Harry added gently, "The transporter picked up poly-deutonic alloy."

With a deep sigh, Seven reached into her jacket pocket and held out her palm. The Doctor's mobile emitter glinted dully in the starlight. "He came out here about a week after Mars, went straight to the barren field of dust where the last survivors of the supernova landed and opened a field hospital. I remember when he called me, maybe a month later. He said he'd seen the writing on the wall long before the attack, that the Federation had always been suspicious of artificial life, had always questioned his sentience and treated him like a second-class citizen." She eyed him icily. "Do you have an EMH onboard?"

Harry shook his head as he reached out and touched the holo emitter with a tentative finger. "Not like the Doctor. Even if a Voyager situation occurred, our EMH program doesn't have the same learning ability that the Doc has."

"Starfleet stripped out their ability to become sentient." Her voice was hard. "And you all wondered why he left without telling anyone. Starfleet would have seized his emitter and made him a prisoner, if not decompiled. It didn't take long for those same people to start looking at me, talking about xBs, in the same tone of voice as they did sentient holograms. Out here, people need help, and they don't care if the person who helps them is an xB with cybernetic implants or an AWOL hologram who uses a mobile emitter."

Turning, Harry looked her in the eye and said slowly, "Seven, I have not seen the Doctor or his mobile emitter today."

Her gaze didn't stray from his, as if she were peering into his soul. Then she nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you."

"I would like to talk to him, though. It's been ages."

"You can't." Seven frowned. "There's a recursive error somewhere in his accuracy algorithm. He can't hold operating tools properly, and he refuses to come out until it's fixed. He's embarrassed. I'm on my way to Freecloud to meet with someone who can get me access to a level one hololab."

"Level one labs are restricted to Starfleet. There are only two left since Mars. No one's making self-aware holograms anymore."

"Sentient holograms," Seven corrected dryly, "and I'm aware. Hence hitching my way across the sector to Freecloud."

"Sentient, I know, sorry." Damn, could she still make him feel like a blustering ensign again. "Do you really need a level one lab?"

Seven arched her eyebrow.

"Because if you could make do with a holographic recreation of a level two and some Seven of Nine creativity, we could fix him right now."

"Seven of Nine creativity?" she scoffed.

Harry shrugged and grinned. "I learned all my best illegal programming tricks from you, but I'm hoping to watch you in action one more time. It always blew my mind."

A smile crept across Seven's face before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. Her hair brushed against his nose, smelling of Tarkalian tea and the ozone of the planet she'd been on.

"What was that for?" asked Harry, glad the starlight wouldn't show his blush.

"After harbouring a fugitive Starfleet officer, assisting a vigilante, and breaking the synth laws, what's a little fraternization between friends?" She laughed, chiming low, and crossed to the door of his quarters. "Which way to your holodeck?"

"I'm going to have to falsify my Captain's Log," sighed Harry. "To your left."


End file.
